


Struck

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Aftercare, Caning, Collars, Coming Untouched, Master/Slave, Multi, Obedience, Polyamory, Punishment, S&M, Subdrop, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: This is primal.  Angry and defiant and ecstatic all at once, raw as the red stripes Nicky will soothe with cream later, when Mark is face-down on the duvet, still shivering.For now, he's sat on the floor outside the bedroom door, waiting to be invited in.





	

If Nicky thought Mark didn't like this, he'd stop it in an instant.

It's certainly confronting. Or it was, the first time he heard it. People aren't supposed to make those noises, especially not people you love, especially not willingly. Nicky doesn't like to watch. There's certain things about this relationship that he enjoys, far more than he'd admit to anyone else, but this is past what he's comfortable with.

Mark loves it, though. Nicky wondered, at first, whether he was putting it on for Kian. Saying yes, of course, because that's what Mark does. Kian is in charge. Mark does what he's told. Nicky understands that. Understands that far more comfortably than he'd ever thought possible.

But Jesus, that sudden whipcrack, that keening cry muffled by the gag. Like a shriek and a sob all at once. Mark doesn't cry, of course. Mark never cries. This isn't something that can be expressed in tears. This is primal. Angry and defiant and ecstatic all at once, raw as the red stripes Nicky will soothe with cream later, when Mark is face-down on the duvet, still shivering.

For now, he's sat on the floor outside the bedroom door, waiting to be invited in.

“Mine,” Kian growls. The crack of the cane. Despite knowing it's coming, Nicky flinches.

Mark howls into the gag.

Nicky closes his eyes, hand squeezing a fleeting grasp over the erection he's sporting. Because even if he'd never do this to Mark himself he's not made of damn stone.

“Shh shh shh...” he hears Kian baby. Nicky shivers. “It's okay, lovely. Tell me what you did wrong.” There's a heavy pause, and when Mark speaks Nicky knows Kian's undone the gag.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?” He hears a whimper, soft and pained.

“I...” Mark gulps. Jesus, Nicky loves it when he gulps. “I took off my collar.” A shudder runs through Nicky, his eyes still closed. “I forgot to put it back on.”

“You don't forget.”

“I was careless.”

“You wear it or you don't. If you don't wear it, I have to assume you don't want to.” There's another long pause. Nicky can hear Mark's breaths, rapid and hard. “Do you want me to take it away?”

“No. No, please...” Nicky fingers his own collar, biting his lip against the rush of arousal. It's almost a part of him. A thin leather band he wears around his wrist, on his ankle if they have to wear short sleeves. Around his throat, when Kian wants it. When Kian commands it. Right now it's connecting him to the doorknob with a long silver chain.

It was painful, watching Mark. The sudden realisation. Scratching his hand up his sleeve, and then the wide-eyed look of panic when he realised the thing he wore every day wasn't there. Nicky had watched. Sat in the recording studio while Mark had hitched up his trouser legs to check his ankles, as though the whole thing wasn't completely futile. It had been on the bathroom sink when they'd got in, left there after Mark had taken it off to shower that morning.

He'd watched. Fascinated. Seen the gears click and turn, the decisions. Kian wouldn't check, probably, wouldn't know if Mark put it on the moment they got back in and pretended things were normal, but that didn't change anything. Nicky had seen Mark look at him, beseeching, and he'd only been able to stare helplessly back.

Because Mark was never going to _lie_ to his master.

“I don't think you deserve it.”

“I don't.” Mark sounds defeated. Nicky lets his hand caress the front of his jeans again. He'll be face down. Nicky wonders if he'll be cuffed, but if he knows Kian there'll be no restraints. Mark has to want to stay, to take his punishment, or what would the point be?

“What's your punishment?”

“One for every hour I didn't wear my collar.” He showered at six that morning, and they didn't get home until seven that evening. They're nine strikes in. Four to go. Nicky hopes he can take it.

“Not one less,” Kian promises. “You take this, and it's forgiven.”

“Thank you.” He hears the creak of Mark adjusting on the bed. Bracing himself, probably. “I won't let you down again.”

“You won't.”

 _Crack_.

Nicky flinches. He wants to touch himself, wants it badly, but doesn't want to be where Mark is. It won't be the cane, not for him. Kian knows their limits, and while Nicky would like to think he's strong, Mark is stronger. Mark will take this and ask for more.

Nicky's punishments are quieter. The week he spent sleeping at the foot of the bed like a dog was a special kind of agony, one he wishes he didn't yearn to repeat. Curling up every night while Mark was invited into the bed, hearing the softness of the duvet and the quiet, content breaths of the two of them sleeping. The floor was hard. When Kian woke him on the last morning and guided him up, settling him between the two of them and wrapping around him, Nicky had cried, relief and ecstasy all at once.

 _Crack_.

Mark doesn't scream this time. There's a gasp instead, breath forced out. Nicky's head rolls from side to side against the door, hand moving faster. He can't do this. He won't.

But _fuck,_ when Mark _screams_.

 _Crack_.

“Ah...”

“One more.” The springs squeak. Kian has climbed up. Nicky knows. Knows the settle of knees either side of Mark's hips, the creak of him bending low to press kisses down a long spine. Nicky loves that spine. Has spent hours tracing it, pressing delicate affection to every bump and curve of it. When they're good, Kian lets them play with each other. No instruction, just Kian sat in the corner, watching them fondly while Nicky arches into Mark, feels the awkward touches when Mark takes back control a little, like he's wearing a shirt that doesn't quite fit.

“That's it,” Nicky whispers. Mark is sobbing. Great, heaving hiccups. “That's it, baby. You can do this.” He bites his lip, braces himself against the door. He's hard. It's almost over. Soon, Kian will let him do something about it, if Nicky asks nicely.

 _Crack_.

“Beautiful,” Kian murmurs. “You're done, love. What have you learned?”

“Never neglect my collar.” He doesn't say 'forget'. Kian wouldn't accept that. “You are my collar.”

“And you are mine.” It's a soft, heartfelt promise. Nicky fingers his own, tears springing to his eyes. He feels, sometimes, like Kian will never love him as much as he loves Mark. Knows that's not up to him to decide. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

Springs squeak. He looks at the floor just as the door opens behind him, the chain tightening as the knob pulls back. He doesn't move. Legs crossed, eyes averted until he's given permission to look. A hand strokes carefully through his hair.

“Could you hear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Fingers trail soothingly down the back of his neck. “He needs you. Stand up for me.”

“Yes.” By the time he does, the chain is undone from the doorknob and held in Kian's hand. The other hand caresses his cheek.

“Do you know that I love you both?”

“Yes.” A kiss brushes his forehead. When he's led inside he can feel Mark's presence, though his eyes are still on the floor. Kian's thumbs massage up his shoulder blades, dig into his neck, relaxing and careful.

“Look.”

It's beautiful. Obscenely so. Long limbs and sweat, trembling on the bed. Red stripes cutting a crosshatch over Mark's arse and down the backs of his thighs. The cane is on the dresser. Even the sight of it makes Nicky's mouth dry. Kian moves him a few steps closer, and when he rounds the side of the bed Nicky sees blue eyes half-open, dazed and glassy. The chain is unhooked.

“Go.”

“Marky...” Nicky climbs onto the bed. Mark looks at him. Looks through him. There's drool on the pillow. “Beautiful boy.” He knows how this goes. How to take care of Mark, hold together the pieces that will shiver apart for hours, sometimes days, after a scene like this. When he lays down beside his lover, and feels arms wrap around his waist, he knows Mark has broken a little, in ways he'd beg for if Kian didn't offer it. There's cum on the sheets. Nicky suspects it's been there since the fourth or fifth strike.

Nicky holds him close. He's quivering, convulsive little jerks. Nicky strokes him, staying well above the brand of cane-marks.

“Wanted it.”

“I know.” He kisses Mark's cheeks, mopping up tears that aren't there. “Better?”

“Yes.” There's a sudden hiss, a cry, and when Nicky looks up he realises Kian is laying cold, damp cloth across the wounds. He gets a nod. Keep going. Distract him. Care for him. Nicky thinks it would be impossible not to care for Mark.

“Sweet boy.” Nicky smiles. “I'm proud of you. You did a silly thing, and you owned up to it. What a good boy you are, taking your punishment so well.” He sees the hint of a smile, returns it when Mark nuzzles into his hand. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.” He looks almost asleep, bless him. Nicky looks over his shoulder at Kian, who is just laying down the last cloth.

"Please may I let him sleep?”

“You may.” By the time Kian climbs up on the bed Mark's eyes are closed. The rhythm of him perfect, pressing a heartbeat through Nicky's body.

“Mine.” Nicky smiles as Kian whispers it in Mark's ear, sees Mark's lips quirk into something like contentedness. “Sleep,” he orders. “Sleep all night, and in the morning we'll start again.” A nod tips Mark's chin. “We'll take care of you, always.”

They will. Knuckles brush down Nicky's jaw. When he looks up Kian is giving him an approving, reverent look. He nuzzles into Mark's hair to hide his blush.

“Say what you need.”

“I don't know,” Nicky admits. “Thank you. For this. For him.” He looks down at fluttering eyelashes. “For me. For forcing me to be... more myself than I knew I could be.”

“If you ever don't want it...”

“I know.” He does. Knows he could walk out in a heartbeat. Knows the chain is a symbol, that the collar is only a promise. Not that he's property, but that he belongs. Here. Soothing Mark through the aftershocks and feeling knuckles stroke his jaw. He nuzzles into them. “I love you.”

“Love you,” he hears Mark mumble. Nicky giggles, can't help it, sees Kian grin fondly.

“I love you both.” He kisses Nicky. Finally. Nothing's going to happen tonight, not with Mark in this state, but he knows when Mark wakes Kian will have time for him. Kian will always have time for him.

“May I stay and watch over him?”

“You may.” Kian pulls back. “Would you like to eat?”

“I'm not hungry, but I will if you ask.” He gets an approving look. Kian won't ask.

“I'll stay too.” Kian strokes over the collar. It's back around Mark's neck. “Go lock the doors, and turn out the lights. Bring the cream with you. We'll need to see to the swelling.” He lifts one of the cloths slightly to check the marks. “He's done very well today.”

He has. Nicky knows if he waits any longer to leave it will be considered dawdling. He climbs reluctantly off the bed.

He stops in the doorway. Kian is wrapped around Mark, kissing his neck slowly. Their hands are folded together, clasped around each other, every touch perfection.

Nicky goes to get the cream.

 


End file.
